


Shades of Loyalty

by seraph7



Category: Generation Kill
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, M/M, Slash
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2010-09-05
Updated: 2010-09-21
Packaged: 2017-10-11 12:25:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 7,826
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/112382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seraph7/pseuds/seraph7
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A English Civil War AU. Nate Fick joins the Royalist Calvary in the English Civil War. He meets Brad Colbert and the two have a relationship but are parted by Lord Ormonde, Nate's father. Eager to separate them, he sends his son on a futile mission to Ireland. Will they find each other again?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Fleeing the Battle

"There's a price on our heads."   
Three heavily cloaked men stood by the crudely printed woodcut reading the message pinned at the crossroads at nighttime.   
"Quite a high one, Lord Wilmot. One hundred pounds..." he gave a low whistle. "I had no idea we were so damned valuable. Doubt if I've seventy pounds floating round my entire court at The Hague-"  
Brad Colbert said nothing as he read the woodcut assessing the situation. Of course it was to be expected after the shambles of the battle at Worcester. Sweet Jesu, what a damned clusterfuck. They were so ill-equipped, it was a disgrace sending them into battle. The Scots had been uneasy bedfellows from the start, it was only a matter of time before they turned on them. In all honesty the Parliamentary forces had the jump on them from the beginning. They'd been lucky to escape with their lives as it was, without the entire country being roused against them.  
"We need to get to France as soon as possible, my lord. They know what they're doing offering this massive reward for our scalps."  
"What do you mean?" Charles asked.  
"Who is going to be able to resist that sum of money, even if they sympathise with us and our cause?"  
To his credit the young king was taking the bad news fairly well. It could not be easy listening to the slow death of all his hopes of regaining his father's throne.   
"How far are we from the coast and safety?"  
"We're slap bang in the middle of the country, my lord. Still, look on the bright side-"  
"What bright side?" Wilmot sounded testy.  
"They made us look so fantastical in their description, perhaps no one will recognise us." Brad said, the ghost of a laconic smile curving his mouth. "Look at this: Yon first man is tall, nigh six foot in length, dark like a Spaniard and very irresistible to the ladies. And as for myself-," the smirk grew. "Apparently I am six foot four inches, golden haired and resemble a savage viking or Lucifer himself at his most alluring and arrogant. Who knows, purple prose and appalling spelling may yet save our hides? What humble hardworking subject of your reign is going to be able to decipher such poorly written rubbish?"  
"Well, there's nothing else for it, we're going to have to go undercover. Hiding in woods, following the course of rivers, sleeping rough 'til we get to the coast and looking for someone to give us refuge-"  
"Sleeping rough?" Lord Wilmot looked horrified.  
"Needs must, Henry. There's no room for acting like a princess now."  
Wilmot blenched, drawing himself up to his full height. "I, sir am a gentleman! I'll not skulk like an animal at bay, hiding in ditches!"  
Brad took a moment to control himself. Dear God the man was impossible. Although he'd had to admit that Wilmot had improved since the beginning of the campaign and he was at least loyal to Charles, this was no time to start throwing temper tantrums about the lack of creature comforts.  
"In case you hadn't noticed, we are fugitives in our own land. We all have a price on our heads. This is no time to be precious about having to sleep in a ditch or two in our lord's service."  
Wilmot merely looked mutinous. They couldn't afford disharmony now – their lives were dependent on each other. Charles stepped in.   
"You can act as our scout, Henry. Colbert and I will go undercover and you can meet up with us when it is safe."  
"Just don't get yourself caught, will you?" Brad smirked, unable to resist one last dig at the Lord.


	2. Brief Sanctuary

"I would give half my kingdom right now for a dry pair of boots that fit." Charles muttered, wincing as the half-rotted leather of his riding boots squelched underfoot.  
"That is, if you had half a kingdom to give them. Here. We'll stay here for the night, your Grace, and tomorrow we should reach the Paleyn's." They lay down in the ditch and spread the two increasingly shabby cloaks over themselves. They were both still damp and smelled unpleasantly of dust, dirt and wet wool.   
"Wake me in a couple of hours, Colbert and I'll keep watch." Charles's dark eyes were fluttering shut with fatigue.  
"Aye, Sire."

Brad had woken his master, fallen into a light fretful doze and was being woken for the next watch.  
"Time."  
He opened his eyes, readying himself to take Charles's place. After a few moments he heard Charles's voice very close to his ear. "What do you dream about, Brad?"  
"I thought you were going to sleep, my Lord?" he said a note of reproach in his voice.  
"I will, I promise." Charles assured him. "You didn't answer the question?"  
"I dream of many things, your Grace." Brad said, reluctant to talk about them. Charles didn't seem to get the hint.  
"They seem to distress you." He observed. "Sometimes I dream about my father." He said hesitantly.   
Brad listened despite himself. It seemed terribly raw and personal for Charles to talk about it, but if he needed comfort Brad was prepared to do his duty and listen.   
"-and I dream about standing by the block, struggling to get to him and free him from his captors, but I can't get there, no matter what I do. I hear his cries for mercy and I can do nothing. I'm drenched with his blood when they do it and I'm holding his head and his body, trying to put them back together, but I can't-"  
"My Lord-"   
"You're right, Brad. I shouldn't think of such things. If we-". He started again, new determination in his voice. "When we get through this, I will have the rest of my life to grieve for my father, but I cannot afford to weaken, not now." There was a thoughtful silence as the two men sat in the darkness, lost in their own thoughts.  
"So what thoughts distress you? What or who is it you cannot forget?"   
Brad tried very hard not to think of long slender limbs and fair pale skin. A hayloft on a midsummer evening. Shoulders peppered with freckles he'd spent stolen hours pressing kisses to. Wide green eyes as expressive and eloquent as that perfect pink cupid's bow of his mouth. Soft sandy gold hair clinging to his damp forehead as he arched and writhed under Brad's naked body. The unguardedly honest sigh after he'd come within the tight slicked circle of Brad's fist: 'Love you...". And the thought that Nate was gone, lost to him. A thought that nearly made him groan with pain at the loss of it.  
"Nothing, your Grace. Get some sleep." He said tersely.

It was late by the time that the pair arrived at the Paleyn's, but they'd had to wait until the coast was clear. Even Brad was glad to see decent shelter at last. They'd been sleeping rough for several days, huddling under their cloaks at night for some elusive warmth. Travelling by day for miles in damp clothes. He saw the king shiver under his stained torn cloak. To give him his due, he hadn't complained much really, just got on with it as any good soldier should do.  
Charles knocked on the door.  
"Who goes there?"  
"Two men who seek shelter."  
The door opened and a bluff hearty man looked out lantern in hand.  
"What's the password? We can't afford to take any chances in this day and age."  
"Blackbird and Blue Diamond."  
The man nodded satisfied with their responses, recognising the king. "Very well. Come in, and welcome."  
He led them into the pantry where a modest meal was waiting for them. "We didn't know when you would arrive, so it'll probably need heating up. I hope our repast will suffice." Paleyn said.  
"Thank you." It was more food than either man had seen for several days having eked a living on berries and nuts found in the forest to stave off hunger pangs and for a while there was little talking as they ravenously ate their fill.  
"We mustn't eat too much, Sire. Think how little we have consumed over the past week. If we overdo it, we'll just make ourselves sick, and we can't afford that." Brad said.  
"You're right."  
Paleyn started to clear up the table. I see about readying your chambers. They won't be much , but-"  
"Master Paleyn, we have been sleeping rough for several days in ditches and up trees. I'm sure anything you can provide will be an improvement. Thank you for all you've done for us.


	3. A Face from the Past

"This is Father Huddlestone." They were greeted by a genial old man in shabby yet scrupulously clean priest's robes. "You'll be sharing the hiding quarters with him and a injured Royalist agent who's hiding here until he's well enough to leave the country. He came here most grievously wounded. " John Paleyn said, showing the the hidden door. They ducked through it.  
Brad was very still all of a sudden and Charles noticed it. This is important to him. Perhaps Colbert is not so frozen inside after all.  
"An agent?" Brad asked warily.  
Paleyn kept talking. "He escaped from Ireland, trying to make his way to the continent. Poor man was so badly injured it was touch and go whether he'd make it, but he's a tough one underneath. He's getting better now, but he needs rest, time to heal. Father Huddlestone has been helping us tend to him."  
Brad was silent, impassive even, although emotions flickered in his eyes. He gave little away, no wonder he'd earned a reputation for cool headed ruthlessness which lead some mistakenly to think that he had an icicle inside his chest instead of a heart. Charles knew that wasn't true, not by a long way.  
"May I see him?" he asked.  
Paleyn hesitated. "Well, Mister Colbert, I'm not sure that's a good idea. He's still not very well-"   
"I would not ask you if it wasn't important, sir." Brad's voice was low but earnest. "Please-"  
"Very well. You must not distress him, though." Paleyn said reluctantly letting himself be persuaded. "Nate hasn't been well-"  
"Nate?"   
Charles was alarmed at the sudden pallor of Brad's face. He was holding together by the knife's edge.  
"What is the name of the agent you are sheltering?" he said keeping calm by an immense effort.  
Paleyn looked at the king , rather frightened. "What have I said?"  
"He needs to know. Tell him." Charles urged quietly.  
"His name is Nathaniel Fick , or so he told me, your Majesty."

"What are you thinking of?" asked Charles. "Why were you so concerned about this agent?  
Brad didn't answer, but Charles was intrigued. He'd vaguely heard rumours about of how Lord Ormonde could barely be induced to pronounce Brad Colbert's name with a civil tongue in his head. Despite his obvious bravery, loyalty to the cause, skill and the high regard Prince Rupert and Prince Maurice held him in. By all accounts, the feeling of loathing was mutual. Something had happened to make Lord Ormonde hate him, and Charles would have bet half his cousin Louis's fortune that it was all connected with the agent lying injured in John Paleyn's sick bed. Whatever it was, this was personal.

Brad entered the room prepared for the worst. Once the shock of having his suspicions confirmed had worn off. He was determined to do what he could to help him, the urge to protect flaring up in his chest like a newly fed fire.   
Nate lay on the bed, eyes fluttering open after sleep. He still looked terribly young and pale, but as he opened those eyes of his, impossibly green eyes that Brad had never forgotten there was something missing in them. The innate innocence and optimism that was so part of his soul had been wrenched away. What happened to you in Ireland? Brad thought, his heart twisting painfully in his chest. What horrors have you seen? Damn Lord Ormonde for doing this to you.  
"Nate?"  
He stared at him as if he couldn't quite believe it and thought that he was still dreaming with eyes open.  
"I must be seeing things-" he muttered, passing a hand over his eyes. "Father Huddlestone must have been a little too heavy-handed with the opiate."   
"I know I'm no figment of your imagination." Before Brad knew what he was doing, he went up to the bed and took his hand.   
"It is you-" he said , his voice soft with wonder. "Brad-" . He moved to raise himself from the bed and winced from pain in his still healing shoulder.  
"You're hurt. What happened to you, Nate?" he uncovered his side where a long slash on his flank hadn't healed properly. Brad traced one finger gently over his flesh.  
"Let's just say I had to leave Ireland in rather a hurry, and I doubt I'll be returning to my homeland for some time." Nate's attempt at humour as deflection failed to fool Brad who simply knew him too well.  
"Nate, what happened to you and Tom Foley? What happened to your mission for Lord Ormonde?"  
The look of pain on Nate's face was unmistakable and Brad knew that whatever it was , Nate was still suffering the after effects of it. Not just in physical injuries but emotionally inside.  
"Tom is dead." He said quietly. "He was killed by the troops as we tried to escape. I managed to escape with my life barely, but-"  
"I know you were close to him."  
"Someday I will be able to talk about it, but not right now. Do you understand?"  
"I'm sorry."  
He nodded. "Thank you."  
There was a discreet knock on the door as Paleyn and Charles waited outside and the moment was broken.  
"Sorry to disturb both of you, but I wanted to see the patient if that's all right with you? No, no, Mr Fick you don't have to rise for me-" Charles added hastily, noticing that Nate was attempting to painfully rise from his sickbed again.  
"I understand you sustained some injuries in my service? Am I right?"  
"I am willing to serve you in any way possible, Sire."  
He nodded his thanks. "I'm sure Lord Ormonde will be relieved to hear how you are . I'll see about sending word to him-"  
"No, don't!" Nate said alarmed, which instantly set Charles's sensors ringing. Why does he not want his father to know where he is, or even whether he is safe? What has been going on in Ireland?   
"We'll talk about this later. I don't want you to think about this at the moment, not when you are still healing."  
"Please, Sire. I don't want you to contact Lord Ormonde. Promise me on your honour that you won't."  
"He is your father-"  
"I have to insist Sire. If you contact him. I will have to attempt to leave and right now, I don't think that would be a good idea."

Charles waited until he was alone with Brad before plying him for information. There was a mystery behind Nate's reaction to Lord Ormonde and he wanted to know what it was all about.  
"Lord Colbert."  
"Yes, Sire?" Brad said .  
"You knew the gentleman we found here?"  
Brad was silent except for a sigh that escaped him.  
"Brad, is there some mystery here that everyone is trying to keep from me?"  
"No mystery Sire. Don't you remember? He was my Lieutenant, long ago. Do you remember that day you and your brother got abducted by the rebel forces and we rescued you both?"  
Charles's mouth quirked with humour for the first time in a long while. "Yes, I remember. You saved us from a most mortifying fate, although I'm not sure that my brother James ever forgave it. He is so careful of his dignity."  
"He left the cavalry on his father's order and was sent to Ireland. I knew not what happened to him afterwards."  
"He's alive. Surely that's a good thing?" Charles takes a perceptive look at Brad's face. "This man, he means a great deal to you, does he not?"  
For a moment Brad is unable to speak. How does he tell of what happened? Exactly what Nate Fick meant to him. "He was a good officer. My men respected him and he repaid their trust in spades." he says , his voice hoarse. "Come my lord, we must retire if we are to be ready for the day ahead."  
Charles keeps silent, as he realises that the subject has been firmly changed. He allows himself to be led to the Priest's hole for the night, still pondering the look on Colbert's face as he discovered his friend and the wonder on Nate's face as they were reunited. _There's more to this story than meets the eye.Of that I am sure,_ he tells himself as his eyes close wearily for the night.


	4. The Dilemma

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Brad is shocked to find Nate in hiding and that he still desires him and has feelings for him despite what has happened in the past.He persuades Charles not to tell Lord Ormonde where his son is.

Brad lay in the darkness knowing he had to try and sleep. He'd be no good to anyone if he didn't get some rest. He just couldn't still his mind for long enough to actually make any headway.  
To find Nate here after all these years, wounded and broken was a shock. After all those years to have grieved for the man and then to find him still alive. A wave of powerful visceral dislike for Lord Ormonde swept over him. That man was responsible for so much.   
He remembered the determination Nate had when pleading with his Majesty not to contact Lord Ormonde with details of where he was. He doesn't want him to know he still lives. What had happened to him over in Ireland and why was he so adamant that his father shouldn't know a thing about him and his life?

Brad must have eventually worn himself out and fallen asleep, because the next thing he'd remembered was Paleyn shaking him awake in the early dawn light.   
"The coast is clear. Your master is asking for you."  
Emerging from the Priest's hole and stretching his limbs, he hurried to the pantry where Charles was eating.  
"My lord?"  
"Colbert. I wanted to speak with briefly regarding last night and the agent we encountered last night."  
Brad keeps silent for now. He doesn't know quite how much to tell Charles without revealing Nate's secrets and after all this time , does he really have the right?  
"Nathaniel Fick. His father was Lord Ormonde. Is that correct?" Brad nods. He can hardly deny something which was common knowledge throughout the regiment, can he?  
"Why would he not want his family to know where he is. I know John Butler, Lord Ormonde and he mourned his son, despite the fact he wasn't legitimate. He loved that boy-"  
"No, he didn't. He didn't love Nate at all." The protest burst out of Brad before he could hold it back. As Charles turned to him in surprise, he kept quiet, cursing himself silently for his sudden lack of control.  
"There is something you're not telling me , isn't there? You know why Nate is avoiding his father."  
Brad returned the king's enquiring gaze. "It's not my place to say it. Not, after all these years."  
"Don't you think Lord Ormonde has a right to be reunited with his son?"  
_What could he say? Lord Ormonde forfeited any rights to Nate the day he told him he was ashamed and disgusted by him? He sent him to his death in Ireland to make up for some perceived sin. And all because he dared-_  
"You are my lord and master, you may do as you see fit. But I ask you, Sire not to act rashly. If Nate doesn't want to see Lord Ormonde, then you shouldn't force him. I know him and he would attempt to leave if he thought you were considering it."  
Charles ponders Colbert's words. "I've never known you to give me bad counsel, if you could help it. I have to say my conscience troubles me at keeping Lord Ormonde in the dark, but I will bow to your judgment for now. "

Brad went to see Nate in his sick room, to check up on his progress. Charles wisely made himself scarce, though he was obviously curious about them.  
"Who is it?"   
His face so pale against the coverlet brightened up at the sight of Brad in the doorway.   
"How are you feeling?-"  
"All the better for seeing you. It's been so long-" his voice trailed away as he took in the sight of Brad. Despite the fact that privation and struggle had made his long limbs rangy, accentuating the natural lankiness of his form, he was still an impressive figure of a man.  
"Is his Majesty still determined to contact Lord Ormonde?"  
Brad shook his head."I spoke to him this morning. Tried to persuade him of the strength of your feelings on the matter. I believe he'll reconsider for the moment."  
"Thank you." Nate sighed. "You didn't have to do that for me, but you did. Thank you-"  
"Do you need anything? Water?-"  
"I'm fine really. Just let me look upon you. I thought I'd never see you ever again."  
For a long moment they gazed at each other, no words spoken. Remembering the time they were close before Lord Ormonde and his highhanded dictates tore them apart.  
"It's been so long. I dreamed of this, of us meeting again. I used to think what would I say to you when the time came."  
"You dreamed of meeting me again?" Try as he might, he can't tear his eyes away from his face. Not after so long.  
"Of course I did, Brad. Why would I not?"   
They're so close now, Brad kneeling by the bed side, his hand in Nate's. He gently moves a lock of his hair off his forehead.  
"After all this time?"  
Nate looked at up at him, a smile on his face. "I never stopped, Brad. Not for one day."  
His hand curls round Brad's neck pulling him close. It's so natural for Brad to lean forward for that longed for kiss. His lips touching his gently at first, Nate's tongue almost shyly teasing the seam of his lips.  
Brad pulls away first, struggling for self-control. "You're not well. I shouldn't have-"  
"Shouldn't have what?  
"Shouldn't have taken advantage. I'm sorry."  
"Don't go-" Nate starts to say. He tries to grip Brad's wrist but a wave of pain takes him and he doesn't have the strength to retain him. He hears the door go, and buries his face into the pillow, feeling more alone than ever.

Brad manages to get as far as the corridor before he stops. He paces for a while, lost in thought. Remembering everything all at once.  
_All these years, and I'm still as much as a fool as ever._


	5. Internal Wounds

Nate awoke in the night , roused by the pain lancing through him. He took a gulp of the poppy tincture Paleyn had kindly left by his bedside table with strict instructions he was to have one sip only , no more per dosage.   
He lay back on the pillow, closing his eyes.

Brad Colbert and his Majesty here. I can scarcely credit it. I truly didn't believe I would ever see him again.  
I don't deserve such good fortune. Even if he did still want me after everything we have been through. What right have I do be happy when Tom is gone and Evie is missing?

He opened his eyes, trying to chase away the constant thoughts of that night they broke away from Wolf's Crag in their bid for freedom. The collapse of the barricade as the troop broke into the castle. The pounding of his heart as they fled down the passage towards the forest and the horror as they realised they had been betrayed. The terror on little Evie's face as the soldiers took them into custody.

He hated to relive those terrible times, yet he couldn't help thinking about it at his lowest ebb, when the pain relief was starting to wear off and make the ever constant throb of pain intrude on his consciousness.  
I think the worst part must be not knowing the truth. I don't know what happened to the child. Father Wynn was the last to see her in the cell and he took the key the night they broke out. There wasn't time to follow and Father Michael was adamant Nate take passage for England, not a glance behind spared.

I failed my cousin. Tom entrusted his child to me. His treasure, and I know not if the girl lived or died. It's my fault. It's all my fault. If I had not ...if Lord Ormonde hadn't sent us back home. If I hadn't been banished back home. If I hadn't fallen for Brad Colbert. But how could I not?

-0-

The next day, Nate was trying his strength by attempting to rise from his sickbed. Frankly, he didn't fancy his chances if he suddenly had to make a move.   
I told his Majesty , I never wanted to see my father again. I can only hope he'll listen to me. The underlying question of whether he was right to cut Lord Ormonde out of his life so thoroughly was something else.  
He sent us there to do his dirty work and once we'd done what he desired, he did a deal with the rebels and cut us loose. No, I will not bend. He lost any authority over when he did that.   
Perhaps he'd never forgiven me for my relationship with Brad. Perhaps , he thought to himself thinking back to way his father had disowned Pippa so ruthlessly and thoroughly for her own rebellion against the family and their expectation of her. He wanted to sent me to my end, to cover up his own shame.

"Just wanted to clear the air somewhat-"   
Nate awoke to find Charles at his bedside. He tried to raise his head as a sign of respect, cursing his own weakness.  
"Please don't over exert yourself! Paleyn and Brad would never forgive me if you had a relapse, Nate. Rest-"  
"How can I aid you, Sire?" he said.  
Charles sat back, obviously unsure of where to begin. "Brad mentioned how strongly you feel about your father. That you never wish to see or speak of him again. I don't pretend to understand it, as I greatly feel the lack-"  
"Sire, I understand. You don't have to speak of it if you don't want." Nate said with haste trying to get the young king off the raw painful subject.  
"I respect your decision, and will not act on this matter without your say-so."  
Nate couldn't hide his relief that Charles was prepared to listen to reason and take on his viewpoint. He had feared that he would feel obligated to send a report to Lord Ormonde, out of regard for his father's service rendered to the Crown. "Thank you, Sire."  
"I will ask something of you in return, though."  
Nate stiffened, stifling a gasp of pain. What could Charles possibly want?  
"You will tell me why, won't you? Why you cut him out your life so thoroughly?"  
"I really would have no idea of where to start, Sire." He demurred, delying the moment he would have to start delving into the recent past still so raw in his mind.  
Charles settled into his seat, "How about at the beginning? Tell me about your father. How he gave you the commission . And of course how you met Brad Colbert."  
Nate sighed. Like it or not he was going to have to relive those days, all over again.  
 


	6. A Giant amonst Men

#### DEVIZES: 1644

Nate tried to hide his nerves as he approached the encampment with Father Wynn. It barely seemed any time since Lord Ormonde had purchased his commission as Lieutenant and told him to join his regiment at Devizes. Even though he knew that he knew his stuff and Tom would be there to help him settle in, the prospect of joining the war at last was nerve-wracking. Nate only hoped he would be up to the challenge.   
As they approached the camp, an officer rode up and gave the challenge, followed by one of his men, a stocky man who had a permanently long-suffering look in his vivid blue eyes.   
"Who are you? Where's your papers? Give 'em up or we'll blow you to kingdom come!" he cried, his voice rising in hysteria.  
"Now, Sir-" started the other man , but he was overriden.  
"Who is the commanding officer here, Kocher?"  
He answered reluctantly. "You are, Sir."  
"Well then let me handle this and don't interfere!"  
"Of course, sir." He shrugged and smiled apologetically at Nate as if he wanted to apologise for his officer's behaviour, but couldn't say anything out loud.  
Nate reached into his buckskin satchel, slightly unnerved by the belligerence of the officer. He hoped the rest of the men weren't going to be as trigger-happy as this one seemed to be. The buckle was stiff, and it was proving a struggle to get into his bag and get his papers ready for inspection, especially as he could sense the soldier twitching at the corner of his eye.  
"Here-". He handed them to the officer who eyed them suspiciously, obviously convinced they were nothing but clever forgeries.  
"Well, so far everything seems to be in order-" he said doubtfully.  
"Is there a problem, Lieutenant McGraw?"  
Nate had never been so glad to see his cousin as that moment. Tom rode up with two men: a dark man in the uniform of an captain who had spoken to McGraw, and a blond, silent giant of a man who regarded the scene from horseback.  
"This man was having trouble producing his papers, Captain Patterson. Shall we take him into custody and interrogate them?-"  
"Give them here, McGraw, let's have a look." Patterson calmly scanned through them recognising Lord Ormonde's bold scrawl. "Yes, everything seems to be in order here. Welcome, Lieutenant Fick, Father Michael Wynn. Captain Foley has told me a lot about you."  
"I should say they were. He's my cousin, who we've been waiting for hours for." retorted Tom, leaping off his horse to greet Nate. "Welcome."  
Nate was swept into an enthusiastic embrace.   
"Damn me, I'm glad you're here." Tom said, with a wide sincere smile. Nate could practically feeling the happiness radiating off him.  
The blond man looked at him with an unreadable expression in his blue eyes. "Well, you certainly like to make an entrance, don't you?"  
For some reason the sardonic tone of his voice got under Nate's skin.  
"I didn't do it on purpose!" he retorted, face growing heated, especially when he saw the mischievous lift of the corner of his mouth.   
_He really is an attractive man. With a smile like that, it'd be hard to refuse him anything._ He thought, rather irrationally.  
"Colbert, stop winding him up!" Tom said mock-sternly. "Ignore him Nate, he's just doing it to get a rise out of you. He does it to everyone. I really ought to introduce you all. This is Captain Bryan Patterson, Nathaniel Fick-"   
The dark man grinned in reply. "Pleased to meet you, Lieutenant Fick."  
"Lieutenant David McGraw and Sergeant Eric Kocher, to your left."  
The man had the grace to look sheepish. "No hard feelings? It's just that we have to be careful, nowadays. There's Roundhead rebels everywhere waiting to infiltrate our camp and slit our throats in our sleep-"  
"None at all." Nate said, trying to head off McGraw's lurid fantasies at the pass.  
"And this is Sergeant Brad Colbert." interjected Tom, finishing his introductions.  
He swept off his hat, revealing masses of wheat gold hair tied back with a simple leather thong. Sat astride his dark grey medieval charger of a steed, steel breastplate glinting in the sun, he resembled a knight on his way to battle.  
"Honoured to meet you, Nathaniel." He said, that boyish smile flitting round his mouth and a gleam in those blue eyes that clearly meant trouble. Nate wasn't sure if he was trying to provoke him, or whether something else lay behind his statement.  
"Everyone calls me Nate. You should too." He said boldly looking him in the eye.  
The smile broadened. "Nate-"  
Trust Colbert to make his voice sound like an invitation. Nate shifted, trying to hide the sudden response of his body to his tone. He didn't even want to go down the road of thinking what that meant.  
"Colbert is the regiment prodigy. You should hear Prince Rupert go on about him. Brave as a lion, one of the best shots in the regiment, an unrivalled strategic mind...Prince Rupert calls him his secret weapon-" Tom was saying, as Nate tuned back into the conversation.  
Brad had the cheek to look faintly amused by Tom's lavish praise. "Now you're just trying to embarrass me now in front of your cousin, Foley." He said reprovingly.

Nate, Brad and Tom rode up to be introduced to Prince Rupert, who was sat on a tree stump, unwrapping a parcel of victuals. He stood up promptly at their approach, unfolding his long limbs and striding towards them.   
He's a giant of a man, thought Nate. He must be nearly the same height as Colbert, who towers over the rest of the men.  
The Prince was as dark as Brad was fair, with big dark eyes fringed by long lashes that any court lady would kill for, a mane of coarse straight chestnut hair which spilled down in profusion over his broad shoulders and a long straight, rather imperious nose. There was no mistaking who he was, or his status as the King's beloved nephew and champion of the Royalist forces.  
"Good evening, gentlemen." His accent was clipped, faintly Germanic still. Nate could see why he'd gained a reputation for being slightly brusque with people. Then he smiled at the approach of Brad, and Nate could see the charisma he had at his command, that magic that would induce men to risk life and limb under his banner. A man of many sides and contradictions.  
"It seems we have Lord Ormonde to thank for our latest Lieutenant. I understand he is a cousin of yours, Foley."  
"Yes, your Highness." Tom said promptly.  
"What's your name?"  
"Nathaniel Fick, your highness."  
"You'll be working with Sergeant Colbert and his platoon. He's one of my best men and you could not ask for a better man to work with. You will learn a lot from him."  
"Of course." Nate replied. "Thank you, your Highness."  
Rupert examined him thoroughly. Nate felt as if he was being weighed in the balance by the young Prince.  
"You are very young, but you have an honest face." The Prince said, almost musingly.  
"I know I look young, Sire. I am twenty-one next March."   
He nodded, as if confirming something he had already decided.  
"You'll do well with us, I think. Welcome to the team, Lieutenant Fick."  
Nate couldn't help a small sigh of relief, as if he'd passed a test he hadn't even known he'd been set.  
"That will be all. If you see Sir Ralph Hopton, Colonel Ferrando and General Mattis let them know I want to see them immediately. We need to talk strategy."  
"Certainly." Brad said as they departed.

"What did you think of the Prince?" asked Tom as they made their way back to base.  
"He knows how to speak to the men and how to fight. That' s what we need right now. Someone of royal authority who is prepared to do his duty and lead us to victory."  
Tom nodded, approving of Nate's clear sighted analysis of Prince Rupert and his character.   
"We could not ask for a better commander in the field. At least we know he's on the men's side for all his harshness and brusque manner. I don't mind admitting to you that the relationship with Command-"  
"Isn't what it should be?" Nate remarks, lowering his voice so only his cousin can hear him.  
"You're a sharp one, ain't ye? But you always were, weren't you Nate. Not everyone is born to command. Yet by accident of birth and circumstance here we are. Fighting a war against our fellow man."  
"I'm glad I have you at my back and by my side."  
Nate feels heartened by Tom's simple faith in him.   
_He's a good soul, and he has done so much for me already. I owe him everything. If he hadn't exerted himself to persuade Lord Ormonde to acknowledge him properly as his son, and give him the education he needed, he might have never left the farm._   
"To be honest I only hope I can prove worthy of your faith in me."  
Tom smiled at him. "Of course you will. Come let's make our way back to camp, if we hurry there might be some decent victuals left. Damn me, I could eat a horse at the moment!"

"Have you heard from Pippa? She is safe, isn't she?"  
Tom grinned. "Safe? That one is a survivor down to her very bones." There was no hiding the affection and pride in his voice as he spoke of his beloved sister. "Last I heard she was performing on stage in Paris. They seem to love her voice. "  
Nate was under no illusion that this was the way Pippa earned the bulk of her income. With her beauty and boldness, it was very likely she was a courtesan.That was what Lord Ormonde objected to most violently.  
"At least she isn't here. She's safe abroad, and that's what important.  
"Lord Ormonde never forgave her for leaving and carving her own path. He's still bitter about it."  
Nate had to agree. "He cannot bear to hear her name spoken. I'm sorry, Tom-"  
He sighed as they reached the base camp. "No, don't be. It's hardly your fault. I know my sister and she is a willful one. She would have never tolerated being dictated to by him." He turned to Nate, his handsome open face grave in warning. "He's a formidable man, your father. You cross him at your peril."


	7. A Capable Man

The men were all gathered by the fire keeping warm and listening to Ray talking nineteen to the dozen as he usually did.  
"Jesus Christ, does Person ever stop talking?" Nate asked.  
"Nope." Brad replied. "You should try riding with him."  
"Shush, listen." said Tom grimly. "They're talking about Nate. Perhaps we should hold up for a minute."

"Have you seen the new L-T?" asked Ray.  
"Aye, heard he just arrived today at camp. 'Crazy McGraw' was going to blow him to bits until Patterson came to defuse the situation. Trigger-happy motherfucker." That was Hasser, who Nate vaguely remembered from his hurried meeting with the group as very young, golden haired, blue eyed and good-natured to a fault.  
"By God, the man's a fecking eejit." said another voice, which Nate recognised from the slow folksy cadence and rhythm as Pappy. "Makes you wonder how the feck he managed to get himself promoted to L-T."  
"Family connections." said a voice which Nate didn't recognise. "He's lucky enough to have relatives rich enough to pay for his comission."  
"Wish we were all so lucky. Some bastards get all the luck, Doc." said Pappy, without rancour.  
"Just think , that man is in charge of people. Doesn't the thought make your blood run cold?"  
"Come on Doc, at least we're not in his platoon like Kocher. Damned if I know what that poor bitch done to deserve him."  
"Hell, Kocher must be a saint not to friendly-fire his arse. S'long as he slipped behind him in battle and did it swift and sure. Who'd know?" retorted Doc, quick as a whip.  
"Who'd blame him!" said another smart-arse from the background.  
"Should I be worried you've actually put thought to this, Doc?" said Pappy, the amused smile evident in his voice.  
Doc said nothing, but they could imagine the shrug.  
"What's this Fick like, then? I can't believe I missed out meeting him. Any of you speak to him?" asked Ray.  
"Inquisitive motherfucker, ain't you?" smirked Doc.  
"I just like to know what's going on, that's all." said Ray with mock dignity. "It's not my fault I have a healthy curiosity about the world around me!"  
"Seems alright to me." said Pappy.  
"He's friendly enough. Made an effort to try and meet us and remember our names. Not too many officers do that to be honest, do they? Reminds me a bit of Tom Foley." That sounded like Rudy Reyes's voice. Nate remembered how surprised he seemed when he'd been introduced, that an officer like Nate wanted to get to know them personally.   
The rest of the group hooted with derisive laughter.   
"Can you imagine Digby or Wilmot pulling that shit? Wilmot looks down on us all like we should be labouring in his fields bringing in his harvest, not looking him in the face like we thought we were his godamned equal, and Digby-" Ray sounded like he was wheezing with laughter. "- Any time you speak to Digby, or even worse, touch him, he waves that stupid rose pink silk handkerchief of his round, as if he's afraid of catching our working-class cooties."  
"I'm gonna shake that motherfucker's hand every time I see him, just for the jokes!" said Doc with a laugh.  
"He'll be decent if he's anything like Foley. They're cousins, ain't they? I'll say one thing for Foley, Irishman or not, he talks to you like a human being, gives clear orders and doesn't ask you to do anything he wouldn't do himself. You can't ask any more than that. If Fick turns out like that, then we've won the fecking jackpot." said Pappy.  
"Dunno how he's going to handle being in charge of a bunch like this. Kid doesn't look old enough to shave, let alone lead us into battle. I keep thinking his schoolmaster will arrive tomorrow, and drag him off by his ear for running away from his books."  
"Hey now, the man can't help his youth or his looks." said Hasser reasonably."-and I don't know him well enough to make a comment on him."  
"Damn, how are we going to get any work done if they give us a pretty little cocksucker as our commanding officer?" slurred one man who Nate recognised as a giant of a man who everyone called Manimal.  
A ripple of appalled laughter came from the men.  
"Homes, you're well out of order-" spluttered Ray, obviously fighting back the urge to laugh his head off.  
"Manimal, you can't say shit like that, man-" said Rudy disapprovingly.  
"Seriously, don't tell me you weren't thinking the same thing? Those green eyes looking up at you all innocent and winsome and that pink mouth... I tell you that mouth was born to suck cock, I swear it."  
"You are off, man." wheezed Ray, losing the battle not to laugh heartily.  
Manimal was obviously enjoying his audience, his raucous voice getting louder and more lascivious. "All I'm saying is he's damn lucky he's a man, 'cause if he wasn't, he'd be getting fucked from here 'til Christmas."  
"I can't believe you haven't got struck down by lightning for some of the things you come out with." Rudy tutted.  
"He's an Butler even if it's the wrong side of the blanket, isn't he? That's how he got the commission, being Lord Ormonde's kinsman. Everyone knows Pippa Foley is the biggest Sukie Rottencrotch in the business, even if Ormonde got mad and disowned her. Perhaps it runs in the family."

Nate drew back, appalled by what he'd heard.  
"Nate?" Tom looked worried. "Do you want me to speak to the guys?"  
Although he knew Tom meant well, he didn't want Tom to sort out his problem for him. These were his men now and he was going to have to find a way of dealing with this himself.  
"It's just a bit of shit-talking by a drunk. Most of what they said was positive, Tom. They didn't really mean it. Did they?"  
"Manimal shouldn't have been running off his mouth like that." fumed Brad behind them. Looking round at him, Nate noticed that he was angry by the tight set of his jaw and the flash of his eyes. "They're my platoon, I'll deal with this once and for all."  
"Brad, you really don't have to-" started Nate. "Brad?"  
He had already disappeared.

When Nate and Tom arrived at the scene Brad held Manimal Jacks down in a headlock despite the fact that he was much heavier and nearly as tall as Brad, there was no way he was going to get out of Brad's determined grasp.  
"What the fuck?" bellowed Manimal, still struggling for freedom. "Let me go, you lunatic! What devil crawled up your arse?"  
Brad's face was calm. Only the dangerous gleam of his eyes gave away any sign of anger. This is not a man I'd like to cross in any way when he's mad, thought Nate.  
"I'm going to say this only once." He said pleasantly. "So even the dumbest, cider-addled bootfucking private in the regiment gets the fact that I. Am. Not. Joking. Lieutenant Fick is our new commanding officer. He will be treated with respect by every single one of you. I do not want to hear any comments to the contrary. If you have any perverse and lascivious musings about him you can keep them to yourselves. Or I assure you, if I have to deal with this bullshit ever again, I will kick your arse. Does everyone understand?"  
"Yes, Sir!" they said as one.  
"You've got three- quarters of an hour before Sixta comes round for lights out. Night, Gents. And another thing, while I'm here. Please do not refer to Miss Pippa Foley disrespectfully in my hearing and especially not her brother's ever again. You would not dare say that to her face and I guarantee she would black your eye if she heard you. I don't want to have cause to be ashamed of my platoon because you have no manners and little sense. "  
"No, Sarge-!" the men muttered, slightly ashamed of themselves for laughing.  
"What is your problem, Colbert?" grouched Manimal, still nursing a sore neck from where Brad grabbed him in the headlock. "Sure got yourself worked up over his pretty mouth."  
Brad looked at him as if he couldn't believe he was stupid enough to push this. He took three strides until he was right in front of him and looked him straight in the eyes.  
"You should count yourself lucky I didn't flog you for what you said. So drop it, Manimal." He said with a voice of quiet venom and walked off.


End file.
